An Untold Story
by Windswept Chaos
Summary: Five unsung heroes, forgotten nobles, begin a quest of friendship, bravery, and sorrow during the end times of the Fifty Years War. OC/Canon based, rated for graphic violence, adult themes, and language.
1. Wounded Souls

_Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Tactics, Ivalice, and all other mentions of canon from Final Fantasy tactics are owned by Sqaresoft, now Square-Enix. I claim no ownership of any intellectual property save for the concepts of original characters presented in this story. End Disclaimer._

_Author's Notes: __This story is rated as it is due to descriptive violence, language, and adult situations which will occur later in the story. __Conflicts with canon may occur; it's been a long time. If you see a canon issue in my story, please let me know; I will likely edit the problem. __All reviews are greatly appreciated and will be responded to at the beginning of the following chapter._

_***_

The war had raged on for decades, a lifetime for many. History would later refer to the squabble between the kingdoms of Ivalive and Ordalia as the 'Fifty Year's War,' and would recall how the ending of this war would lead to a full scale rebellion and a massive civil war in regards to ownership of the throne. That was how the world would see the conflict in the future; for now, it was pride in your kingdom and the horrors of battle, experienced firsthand. One particular field was littered with the horrors of battle on this day; corpses stained the ground with an endless supply of blood and flesh. Not far from this field, a few individuals took shelter from the chill of the night, refugees from the carnage experienced on that day, though carnage that would never be known outside of their small group, and this particular brand of carnage would be forever lost in the river of history.

It was a cold night around the campfire. Six figures sat in solitude, an eerie quiet hanging in the air. The flickering shape of the flame caused their shadows to dance as the group involved themselves in their various tasks. Five nobodies and a mount sat not far from a bloody field littered with bodies; five people who had once carried their names with pride, nobility within the kingdom of Ivalice, were now nameless and forgotten. Even during the trying times of this never ending war, political intrigue was strong throughout the land. These five individuals had lost their families to assassinations and were left with little save that the knowledge of their names could bring about their doom.

Daryn was their leader. The heavily armored knight was seated next to the fire, his back against the sleeping form of his chocobo, Nyran, her own head buried under a blood red wing. His vibrant blue eyes were glazed over; staring into the distance as he absentmindedly stoked the fire, one hand gently stroking the soft down of his mount. He was not tall, but was built on a solid muscular frame. His short black hair topped well sculpted, tanned features, his still young face marred by the horrors he had already witnessed in his short twenty-two years of life.

Tristan sat cross-legged keeping a good distance from the fire, and for good reason. His dark eyes were focused on the cleaning of a gun, his thin frame twitching as he scrubbed down various pieces. Tristan was from Goug, and his light skin and brown eyes betrayed this. In addition to his skill with technology, he was also fairly accomplished in the arts of geomancy, and was a master of altering the terrain to his advantage. Tristan was probably the most frightening of the group. The hardened, icy edge in his eyes was very unbecoming for a mere fourteen year old child, thrust into a war that he had no right participating in.

Tia perched on a rock to the side, shadows enveloping her, her grey eyes staring at the moon. Although her primary abilities were available when she wielded the longbow perched nearby, she had a massive amount of control over her personal chakra, having studied such things for many years of her life. Her agility allowed her to maneuver to areas that werewell out of reach by most people. Although beautiful, her tomboyish attitude and attire hid it well. Raven black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, keeping its length from falling into her nearly black eyes during a fight.

Alyssa was nearby, already sound asleep. She was only eighteen, the second youngest member of the group. A priestess of the Church of Glabados, she was also well versed in chemical mixtures and many herbal remedies and healing items, making her invaluable to any field of battle due to her wide range of curative ability. She was almost angelic in her sleep, her cherubic, soft features painted onto a fair skin tone with only a slight blush to her cheeks. Her blonde tresses splayed around her head, strands of it flitting slightly against her even breathing. When she was awake, her wide green eyes, shining with innocence, could turn the soul of even the harshest man.

The last member of the forsaken party sat the furthest from the group, and was the least 'noble' of them all. He was born a commoner, but was adopted into Alyssa's family after a harrowing experience on the battlefield which resulted in a grievous injury for him and for Alyssa to live a bit longer. After this chain of events, he also managed to become the self-proclaimed protectorate of the young priestess. Rikk had grown up in the church alongside his foster sister, but was trained to a more martial study. While not as skilled with a blade as Daryn was, he was more than competent, and he had the ability to channel divine power through his sword, calling the wrath of the heavens onto his foes. Wrapped tightly in his cloak, his eyes and hair were hidden as usual. Alone he sat, apart from the rest of the group, lost in his internal demons.

The night ran long, and Alyssa was the only one who managed to get some sleep. She alone was spared the horrors that the other four had witnessed. The others thought back on what had led them to this moment, alone and forgotten by everything that they had ever known or cared for, save each other.

A week earlier Dycedarg Beoulve had taken his place at his father's side. He was a snide youngster, bolstered by his family's growing prestige and overconfident of his abilities. Soon after this addition, the forward force had begun its march, culminating in the battle that had occurred on this day. Daryn led a small strike force, meant to be used as a precision unit against the elite groups of the Ordalian forces.

After the fighting had been joined, a crack group of arbalesters had appeared on a heavily guarded ridge, pinpointing and sniping squad and platoon leaders. Daryn's squad was called upon to deal with the threat. During the pitched battle, Alyssa had gotten separated from the others, and Rikk abandoned his duty to search for his sister. Daryn ordered the others to break contact to find Rikk and Alyssa. That's when _it _happened.

The group, in search of Alyssa amidst the mayhem of combat, stumbled across Dycedarg, alone in the nearby forest with five other individuals, mere meters away from the fighting. The other individuals were immediately recognizable to the assembled party; other than them, these were the sole living relatives of their separate houses, houses which had grown in power throughout the war for their undying support of Ivalice. All five were bound, and four had obviously been beaten. Precision cuts laced their bodies, indicating that they were not from battle, but torture. Only two were alive; Rikk's and Alyssa's father, and Alyssa herself, unconscious but otherwise unharmed, thus far. Before any of Daryn's group could react, Dycedarg drew a dagger and deftly stabbed Rikk's adopted father, piercing through the man's heart. As the life faded from the man's eyes, Dycedarg grinned wickedly. "Now to kill your brats, and house Beoulve will thrive to even greater heights."

Rikk flew into a fury, but it was all for naught. A stray catapult boulder landed within a few feet of them, knocking all of them to the ground, and their collective breath was forced out as one. Before any had regained their footing, Dycedarg had vanished, apparently sighting the strike team. They retrieved the unconscious form of Alyssa and fled the battle, fearing for their safety and unwilling to pit their word against Dycedarg's, for his word would weigh heavy indeed with the voice of a Beoulve. Rikk demanded vengeance, but Daryn managed to convince his friend that discretion was, in this case, the better part of valor. Nothing had been told to Alyssa after she had awoken. The others decided that it would be for the best if she didn't know what had occurred in that clearing. And so she slept, undisturbed, while the others lived through the nightmares unrolling within their thoughts, unable to join the young priestess in peaceful slumber.

Thus, six figures sat, unspeaking, throughout the night, their fates unknown. They were probably considered casualties; after all, both sides had been decimated in the conflict, although apparently the forces of Ordalia had been routed. Beoulve's men were currently in pursuit. Five wounded souls, lost in the mix of battle, both external and internal, would be forgotten by those they had once fought alongside, and even by the annals of history. The night was cold indeed.


	2. The Burden of Leadership

_Author's Notes: I have decided that a theme song for the story should be implemented. My suggestion is that you listen to "Life Starts Now" by Three Days Grace, off of their newest CD, __Life Starts Now._ _"Life Starts Now," __Life Starts Now,__ and Three Days Grace are the intellectual property of Three Days Grace and RCA/Jive Label Group, and I hold no ownership of either. I feel that both the lyrics and rhythm accurately depict the overarching theme and mood of the storyline. I may implement further themes for various reasons in the future._

_***_

Daryn prodded the fire contemplatively. Judging from the position of the moon, it was well after midnight. Scenes from the previous day flashed through his mind, a tumult of emotion and violence playing through his thoughts, one that refused to relent. He had been the only one to speak since the incident with Dycedarg the group's family members, save for Alyssa, who was still sequestered from the scene that the others had witnessed. His speaking was limited only for the purpose of answering the young priestess's questions. The mantle of leadership had always weighed heavily on his shoulders, but never as much as now. Today's events had forced him to take a position that he would wish upon nobody.

His eyes stared absently into the night, blind to the other figures that were assembled around the campsite, all of which equally quiet and still, obviously lost in their own thoughts. The darkness around the campfire seemed oppressive, pressing in on the group, threatening to envelop them in hopelessness. All of this passed unnoticed to the knight, so occupied with his own demons that he could not perceive the external darkness. His mind wandered, once again replaying the events of the day.

It had started as any other day, albeit one with a battle hanging in the balance. Anticipation was wrought throughout the gathered military force, some eager, some sorrowful, and some merely lost in thoughts for their families. Commoners and nobles, united under the banner of the Hokuten for the cause of Ivalice. Daryn had spoken a few quiet words to each of his friends and teammates, ensuring that they were prepared for the coming events.

To Tia, his words were those of reinforcement, knowing that the girl was well versed in her place in the group. "Remember, find your high ground. We will need your skills and support. Only resort to close combat if you are personally threatened; I will need you to be the eyes in the back of my head."

Rikk received words of faith. "Let your blade strike true, my friend. Keep in mind that your holy powers have saved our lives many times; ensure that you protect not only your sister, but all of us with your abilities. God smile upon your sword."

Tristan's advice was one of warning. Daryn was still fearful that his youth would lead to mistakes, and as the newest and youngest member of the assembled, he had not yet truly found his niche. "Stay with Tia, and use the tools you have. Your aim may be true, but don't rush into melee combat, and use the earth here to hinder our foes and aid our own movement. Remember not to be a hero; we need you to aid us, not everyone else. They have their own resources. Listen to Tia, for she is well versed in battle and is an excellent guiding source for you."

Alyssa received words of pure encouragement. She was still innocent, and her mind was not as scarred as that of the others. "Dearest, hide your eyes from the bloodshed. Use your mercy as you see fit, but please call upon the power of God to keep us fit. I would not tell you to ignore a wounded enemy in pain, but I would warn you that we come first. We are your friends and family, and we need you, perhaps more than any other."

Daryn himself had received no advice, no encouragement. He was a leader, and he carried the weight of his team on his shoulders alone. He reported directly to Heavenly Knight Barbaneth, the leader of the Hokuten, as his squad existed outside of the command structure. As the general was occupied with his own plans for the battle, he could not spare time to see to the young knight's ego or emotion. Thus, Daryn bore his burden alone, a leader and a stone, a pillar for his team to lean against in need with no support of his own. He had to be strong; he could not bend, not to anything.

The first hours of the battle were dull, with no necessity for the skills of the crack squad. It wasn't until the sniping arbalesters had appeared that Daryn's orders came down, and the tam had moved out without a word spoken, each knowing their place and purpose. Daryn was proud. The endless practice and drills had obviously paid off. He stayed dismounted, with Nyran following behind, using her powerful ability to summon flaming chunks of earth to clear the path before them. The formation was simple; Daryn took point, with Nyran on his heels, carving a path of destruction towards their goal. Behind them, at forty-five degree angles, were Tia and Rikk. Tia, her bow slung, used her mastery of chakra to block flank attacks, knocking back opponents from twenty paces away. Rikk called heavenly wrath upon opponents from the other flank, his sword carving neatly through anybody who strayed too close. In the center of the triangle were Alyssa and Tristan. Tristan supported all sides, conserving his precious ammunition by carving the ground to his will. Alyssa provided aid by the power of God, protecting her teammates from harm when necessary.

It wasn't until they had reached the base of the cliff that the arbalesters were perched upon that things went awry. A force of cavalry came in against Tia, breaking through the flank before she could react. The rest of the group dove to the side, managing to avoid the trampling chocobos, but were somewhat separated in the desperate avoidance. Daryn's eyes went from one member of his team to the next, taking accountability, and it was immediately obvious that one of them was missing: Alyssa.

Daryn was not the only one to notice. He heard Rikk swear and the divine swordsman immediately began to give chase to the chocobos, who were heading towards the nearby woods. Daryn's thought process stopped suddenly, as his recounting of the events caused a sudden realization. The cloaks worn by the knights… they bore the crest of House Beoulve. His mind silently cursed as more of the events fell into place, and then continued, without his permission, through the dramatization unfolding in his mind's eye.

Their force broken, Daryn had ordered the remainder of the group to give chase as well, knowing that all the pieces were necessary to complete their mission. He shared Rikk's anger, truly he did, but they still had a mission to complete, and those arbalesters were wreaking havoc on the forces of the Hokuten. Cursing the holy knight, he mounted onto Nyran, using her speed to catch up to Rikk. "Rikk! We need you back! We have a mission!" His order was met with silence as Rikk continued his pursuit after the quickly diminishing figures of the chocobo knights.

Realizing that the only viable solution was to retrieve Alyssa, Daryn spurred Nyran on to a quicker pace, but the red chocobo could not match the pace of the faster yellows. Slowing the bird for fear of injuring her, he moved at a more moderate pace, allowing his allies to quickly catch up with him. As their small force moved into the woodland, he dismounted, and the group crept cautiously along, in search of the missing priestess.

His mind balked now, not wishing to go through the site of his mutilated father or those that he had come to respect, but this time he forced his thoughts onward, and the painful scene once again played through his thoughts, as it had already done a dozen times this night. The Beoulve was creative, and appeared to enjoy the games he had played with the nobles that he had somehow managed to disarm and bind.

There was Dycedarg, standing in a clearing amidst a copse of evergreens. Daryn's father was laid out, his throat slit. Pieces of flesh had been carved from his muscle, the white sinew shining wetly in the midday light. A long gash split his stomach, his intestines still connected but laying against the ground. Blood oozed from the wounds, staining the ground under his corpse.

Tristan's older brother was a sick sight. Jagged bones split through skin in many parts of his body, and all of his limbs were in awkward angles. The cracked bone and ligament throughout his body was evident and obviously painful. His chest had been carved open, and pieces of rib stuck out at odd angles. His eyes had been gouged out, and grey and pink matter seeped from the empty sockets.

Nearby was Tia's twin sister, and this site was probably the worst that was witnessed by the party. Her wrists and ankles had been pinned into the hard clay of the earth with thick iron nails. Her legs were splayed open, and her clothes were in tatters. Drying semen stained her inner thighs, a sure sign of the vicious attack that had come upon her. One nipple had been sliced off, a jagged line showing that it had not been done quickly or by a sharp blade. Her sex had been violated not only by a phallus, but also by something sharp, as the tears and blood seeping from between her legs displayed. Her stomach was cut open, and the apparent cause of death was blood loss from her vagina and abdomen, as no other vital areas appeared to be harmed. Hers was the only blood that had coagulated, showing that she was the first to die. The others had probably been witness to the torture itself.

Alyssa appeared to be unharmed. Perhaps she had succumbed to fright and mercifully passed out. She was, however, bound, and it appeared that she would have been Dycedarg's next victim had the following events not transpired.

The initial shock of experiencing the horror of the scene caused Daryn and his troupe to pause in revulsion, just as Dycedarg plunged the dagger into Rikk's and Alyssa's father's chest. His death had been the most merciful, perhaps indicating that Dycedarg himself had not committed the atrocious acts. Thick nails had been plunged into non-vital areas, but he had obviously not gone through the pain that the others had been forced to endure, and his death was rather quick as the life faded from his eyes.

Witness to the event, Rikk's stunned trance broke, and he roared in anger, clenching his blade as he began to rush towards the traitor. This predictable action was impeded, however, by the large boulder that slammed into the ground not fifty paces from the scene. Dazed by the attack, Daryn was motionless for several seconds. When he regained his senses, Dycedarg had vanished, leaving only the squad with their murdered family members.

Much of the rest of the day was a blur. The group collected Alyssa and moved away from the horrible scene; Daryn returned alone to bury their lost loved ones. The shadows in the eyes of his comrades showed that they wished not to speak of anything, and none responded to Daryn's inquiry of how to handle the situation with Alyssa. His burden deepened and grew, pressing on his shoulders with each passing moment as he battled his own horror.

He had managed to compose himself when Alyssa awoke. The last thing she had remembered was the strike from the cavalry, and being lifted off of the ground. Blackness, thankfully, had enveloped her then. Daryn kept a strong face as he told her that her father had fallen in battle, and that the group was going to recoup before following after the main force. He informed her that they had won, and the enemy was routed. There was no mention of Dycedarg.

And now Daryn was left with more questions, and more decisions. He could not relieve his mantle onto one of his friends. Such would have been cowardly and unfair. They looked to him to lead, and lead he would. For the first time, however, he questioned this. Could he lead? Could he be the pillar of strength that they needed him to be in these trying times?

The decisions he would have to make in the near future troubled him more, perhaps, than his question of leadership. Where would they go? The Beoulves were a powerful house, and these five orphans' claims would fall on deaf ears were they to slander the glorious name. Yet, returning to the army would prove dangerous, and he would endanger every life in his command. He was torn between duty and friendship. In his brief term as a commander, Daryn was faced with the hardest decision he would possibly ever have to make.

His unblinking eyes finally closed, welcoming the blissful darkness behind the lids. He did not sleep. Daryn merely fought through his issues, one at a time. He lost every battle. Come morning, he would have to tell the group where to go. Would they return to the assembled force ahead, as was their duty? His honor demanded it. Would they flee, and become refugees? His heart demanded that. Torn between mind and spirit, his brain ached as it mulled over what was to happen to him and his friends.

As dawn broke the horizon, Alyssa stirred, awakening, and the others began to move, abandoning their own thoughts and breaking camp in a practiced routine. Daryn had less than an hour before he would be called upon to determine their fates, the rest of their lives. Were they to be deserters or dead? Would there be a difference? Perhaps running was only delaying the inevitable. In under an hour, Daryn would decide the fate of all who surrounded him: his darling mount, raised from a chick under his tender care; his closest friend, a knight that had the power of God behind his wrath in battle; a child, barely into his teens and still truly untested to the world; one he viewed as a sister, a constant companion through troubling times; and a sweet, innocent girl, the only one not eternally scarred from the horrible visions that would haunt the rest of them throughout the end of their days.

The mantle of leadership bore down on Daryn. He could feel his knees giving, his back breaking. Could he command his friends to take any of the possible routes? Could he command them to abandon their posts, or to walk to their deaths like sheep to the slaughter? No matter what his choice was, it seemed that it would end badly for his party. He could only choose one, and their fates would all be sealed to it. He strained under his burden, his mantle. And yet, the decision was his. Such was the place of a leader.


	3. Pragmaticism's Child

_Author's Notes: Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated. They aid me in my writing, and help me to build a dynamic story that all of the readers can enjoy._

_***_

Tristan lifted the barrel of the gun to his lips, blowing gently down the barrel. Pointing the weapon towards the fire, he closed one eye, using the other to sight down the chamber with the illumination behind it. Buildup was still present. Silently, he ignored a twitch in his right arm as he reached down, picking up a string with a swab attached to the end of it. He proceeded to run this through the barrel several times before he was satisfied with the condition it was in.

Unlike Daryn, his thoughts were not on the events of the day. His mind was cold, calculating. Placing the barrel down, he picked up a small priming pin and proceeded to scrub it furiously, though gently. Without bringing his eyes off of his task, his mind wandered into the possibilities of the future. Daryn would be an idiot to lead them back to the army; Dycedarg would surely finish his task were they to do so. Nonetheless, desertion would leave them branded as traitors.

Tristan had long since decided that he would not return. If Daryn decided to lead the rest of them to their deaths, he would gladly allow the sheep to move to the slaughter. He, however, was far too pragmatic to allow such a thing to happen. He had his own life to care about, now. His brother was dead, and with him, the family title would likely fall to pieces. It mattered little to the teenager; not being official nobility meant that he would not have to suffer the pretension associated with the title. His hands moved to the spring, a cloth gently going to it to wipe the grime away.

His thoughts finally did return to the day prior, and this change of thought, he began to question his earlier decision. Of course, the site of his brother, broken as he was, was disturbing, but only on the level of a lack of necessity. The deed could have been done in a much more efficient manner. Dycedarg could have merely slit the man's throat and been done with it; instead, he chose to divulge in a sick torture session. Such an act showed a lack of professionalism; Dycedarg chose pleasure over business.

Tristan pondered on this for a moment as he picked up a file and a few rounds balls of lead. Why were emotions so important? He knew that his companions were currently enveloped in a struggle with their own feelings, but Tristan saw the indulgence of such thoughts as useless. He was not wihtout emotion himself, but fretting about such things achieved little. He paused for a moment in rounding out the bullets, his eyes drifting while the rest of his body remained still, save for the occasional twitch. Slowly, he observed the rest of the assembled. Daryn was struggling with some internal struggle, Rikk was probably swearing vengeance on Dycedarg, and Tia was obviously disturbed by sight of her sister. That was the problem with emotions. They made you weak and predictable. If you find someone's weakness, then they are all too easy to exploit.

Returning to his work, he blew the filings off of one ball before picking up another and continuing. Tristan enjoyed their companionship, of course. They were able allies in combat, and their respective skills balanced each other well. They were also the closest people that Tristan would consider to friends. Nevertheless, he weighed the viability of moving on without them.

Finished with smoothing the bullets, he began to meticulously place them back in their pouch, counting as he did so. Well, they were friends, after all. They obviously cared for him, and did their best to watch out for him. Practicality followed this sentiment, with the thought of the fact that he was, indeed, only fourteen years of age. Supplies would be difficult to procure alone, and earning wages would be even more difficult, unless he were to resort to petty thievery. He would do so if necessary, but he doubted his skills in the manner. Tia would likely be better suited to such a task.

In addition, the world was not without its dangers. Beasts of all types wandered in the wilds, as well as brigands. Tristan was skilled, but was not necessarily capable of handling some of the things he might encounter. Support from more skilled combatants – and the rest of the party, save for perhaps Alyssa, were indded far superior in skill than he – would be welcome in such situations. The final problem was that of the fact that he would be a deserter, a title which brought with it all forms of issues.

Setting the bag of ammunition to his side, he slowly began to piece the disassembled weapon back together. He ensured that every item was in its proper place, and fit both properly and snugly where it was supposed to. As per usual, his movements were methodical and purposeful, slow yet effective. Were his identity known, he would surely be prosecuted, and without the aid of those both stronger and, in some cases, wiser than he, there was little doubt that he would find no way to escape such circumstances. In addition, it was likely that due to Rikk's carelessness, Dycedarg would find a way to order a manhunt on all of them. The Beoulve had the backing of his family, a powerful one indeed, and few would doubt such a word. With the amount of resources and influence he held, even at a young age, there were many that would search for Tristan, enforcing the need for companionship even more. Indeed, it appears that the old attaché, that there was safety in numbers, seemed to hold true, at least in this respect.

Of course, being hunted had a higher survival rate than marching back to Dycedarg. Were he to return to the army, Tristan would be handing himself to the traitorous bastard on a silver platter. Such was unacceptable. However, there was a certain intrigue to this as well. Dycedarg would have a harder time in assassinating the teen in the midst of the Order of the Northern Knights. It was only due to the confusion of the battle that he was capable of doing what he had done the previous day. He would probably be safe with the Hokuten, at least for a while. Still, it would only be a matter of time before Dycedarg would manage to finish what he had started. Both tactics seem to be ones of stalling, and neither seemed promising.

Of course, there was a third option: Betrayal. Should Daryn choose to desert, the others would likely follow the knight. They had formed a bond of friendship, one that was too tightly bound to be broken by something as light as duty. Of course, their loyalties lied with their leader first and foremost; he had, after all, earned their trust far more than some bearer of rank that had no direct association with them. Tristan could use this to his advantage. After learning of their plans, he could move back to the army proper, and procure a meeting with Dycedarg himself, betraying the locations of his companions in exchange for his own life. Tristan clicked the gun closed with a decisive snap, smiling inwardly. This plan seemed by far to be the best.

There were, of course, complications. Daryn could easily outrun and overpower Tristan, even without the use of his chocobo. Even if he managed to get a head start, Tia was probably capable of tracking him. The child was not much of a survivalist in the wilderness, after all. Even if he were able to catch up with the main body, there was no guarantee of a private audience with a member of the Beoulve family, and he may even be killed upon arrival to the base camp. Then the issue of Dycedarg himself came to the forefront of Tristan's mind. The man was relentless in his pursuit of perfecting and furthering the Beoulve name. Not only would Tristan be a liability to Dycedarg on the basis of being a surviving member of a family, but knowledge of Dycedarg Beoulve's plot would make Tristan downright dangerous to keep alive. Dycedarg was probably smart enough to allow Tristan to describe the whereabouts of the small company, and then would likely run the boy through on the spot. Even if he did not, Daryn was a capable leader, and he knew that Tristan was pragmatic to the point of uncaring; even if only in caution, he would likely alter their immediate destination so as not to bring his friends to danger. Upon finding out that the party was not where they were supposed to be, Dycedarg was likely to kill the boy purely on the basis of giving him bad information.

All in all, none of Tristan's plans seemed to have enough of a chance of success to really consider weighing. Pulling back the hammer, he squeezed the trigger on the gun, letting the striker slam forward with a satisfying click. He nodded in satisfaction; the mechanisms were working properly. It seemed to him that his best choice would be to stick with the party as it stood. Daryn was a good commander, and was experienced enough to make few mistakes. His likelihood of survival seemed best if he followed the knight's lead.

As the sun crested the horizon, spraying the valley of death with its glorious rays, Tristan looked up in surprise. The entire night had passed in the course of his musings and meticulous care of his weapon. Glancing back down at it, he shrugged, sliding it into his belt, ensuring it was securing before continuing to do anything else. Wordlessly, he rolled his unused sleep roll and proceeded to aid in breaking down the camp. Daryn's decision would come soon, and Tristan would follow it.


	4. Of Bonds and Cursing

_Author's Notes: AbCarter- Great advice, to a tee. I appreciate the honesty. I have done some minor editing to the previous chapters and will keep it in mind for future writing. _

_Chapter theme: "Anthem of the Angels" by Breaking Benjamin. "Anthem of the Angels," Breaking Benjamin, and __Dear Agony__ are the property of Breaking Benjamin and Hollywood Records._

_***_

Of the assembled party members, Tia was the closest to motionless, the only movement made by her the steady rise and fall of her chest and the slow motion of her eyes following the orbit of the moon as she sat, perched upon a rock far from the comforts and heat of the fire. She welcomed the shadows that enveloped her, for they were her sanctuary, her shell of safety. The darkness was where she was most comfortable. Indeed, while the others may view it as oppressive, threatening, and dangerous, for the young archer, the flickering darkness was a sanctuary in which she could hide.

While her body remained still, her mind was far from it. The chill in the air that surrounded her was a minor inconvenience to the icy grip that the previous day's events had placed on her thoughts and emotions. Her resolve was battered by resounding feelings of fear, anger, horror, and vengeance. Tia's sister had been the only family that the girl had left; both parents had fallen in battle prior to the previous day. Dycedarg's actions had ultimately left Tia in a lost and insecure state, unsure of where to go or what to do.

Silently, she reflected on the relationship between the two siblings. They had grown up in a minor noble house, although the family had been gaining a steady flow of prestige due to the war and their faithful support of the Hokuten. The girls had spent their younger days playing in a garden and throwing rocks at boys, blissfully unaware of the events that were transpiring, the sheer destruction being wrought by the continuation of a conflict that had no purpose in existing at all. Of course, at the tender age of the time, neither would have been able to grasp the concept of the horrors that were to be witnessed by both sides.

The twins had been close throughout the entirety of their lives, despite varying degrees of interest in separate categories. Tia was always a tomboy, while her sister was a very prim and proper lady. Their support of Ivalice was even a sign to this simple fact; whereas Tia studied with monks and learned the arts of the bow, her sister learned how to make poultices and dull pain. She was a chemist, true, but not a battle chemist. Indeed, she never saw battle herself, only the aftereffects. At the end of the day, however, the two were still sisters, and their efforts after joining the military itself only made them grow closer, especially after the fall of both of their parents in battle.

Tia's mind turned now to Dycedarg's betrayal. When the girl had come upon the site, her eyes had remained closed to the other victims, for she had eyes only for the brutally treated corpse of her sister. She trusted Daryn and their band, and she had grown close to them, and even considered them friends. However, there was nothing – absolutely _nothing – _that would ever be closer to her than her sister. Thus, Tia had focused in on the cadaver before her, shocked, disbelieving. The one thing that was closer to her than any other had been torn from her grasp; her death was not even valiant, or for a good cause, nay, it was brutal, evil, twisted, and for the sole purpose of one man seeking to make the name of his family stand out all the more – despite that particular name already being far more powerful than any other in this particular force.

Tia was neither witness to the murder of Alyssa's father, nor to the bodies of the other nobles that had been betrayed. Dycedarg himself had only barely registered in her mind, and that wasn't until several hours after the event had occurred. Her vision was as a tunnel, her eyes only capable of seeing the broken and ravaged body of her sister. Even now, as other thoughts drifted through the archer's mind, that image was still omnipresent, as if burned into her eyes for all eternity. Nothing, she was certain, would ever scrub that image from her sight.

Silently, the girl reflected on the last time that she and her sister had spoken. It was the night prior to the battle; the morning of had consisted of preparation and little time could be spared for the comforts of family. The two had removed themselves from the company of others to share a few moments of family time. Her sister was all smiles and giggles, as usual. Her upbeat personality brightened the worlds of those around her. Tia had, as usual, said very little during their exchange, merely listening to her twin prattle on about her latest crush, blushing when Tia teasingly pointed out that that particular man had a rather firm ass, knowing full well what her sister's reaction would be.

This led to another chain of thought in the girl's mind. Tia had lost her virginity some time ago, after a bit of drink on one of the rare times that she had been given leave for a few days. Her other half, however, had remained chaste, although far from naïve. Her innocence knew no bounds, and the mere mention of sexual contact would send the girl teetering into fits of giggles and a fair amount of blushing. Tia, of course, took advantage of this at every moment.

The thought of the blushing face, trying to hold back a fit of nervous laughter, almost made Tia break her stoic fortitude of stillness. However, before a grin could crack her features, the image of the day prior exploded back into her thoughts, and the thought of her sister's forced removal of chastity caused Tia to flush with anger and hatred. It wasn't even just a simple rape; no, her sister had been crucified to the ground, raped, and then apparently fucked with a jagged blade from the sight that was open to all from between her legs. It was obvious that her death was not slow and painless, either; Tia could almost envision her cries of pain, pleading for Dycedarg to stop, attempting to appeal to some inner goodness that the girl had some intense and absurd notion that everybody possessed.

Tia knew better. The pretense may have even held some weight until yesterday, but now the archer was certain: Some people were just _evil._ Dycedarg happened to be one of them. How else could one justify the torture, rape, and murder of a fucking nurse other than by pure, tyrannical, unforgivable evil? What Dycedarg had done was not purely for the benefits of his family name; Tia might be able to understand a pragmatic approach of removing rivals. She sure as hell still wouldn't forgive the man for killing her sister, but that was at least within the realm of reasoning. What he did was horrible, unforgivable and… and… words could not even describe the sheer atrocity of what had occurred in that clearing.

Still, the archer sat as still as a statue, although now tears rolled freely down her cheeks. She did not sob, or convulse; she merely sat, one leg dangling off of the edge of the rock, the other knee brought close to her chest, both arms wrapped around the arched leg. Her eyes were lifted skyward, gray orbs staring at the moon. Those same eyes were now glistening with moisture, and silent streaks of salted water ran down her cheeks, forming small droplets at the curve of her jaw. The droplets hung for several moments before they began to drop staining the rock under her, droplets of lachrymal rain splattering across the stone surface.

Her sorrow remained unabated throughout the night, but she forced her thoughts to her current predicament. What was her next step? Tia could not singlehandedly slay Dycedarg Beoulve, not while the man had an army behind him, and her chances were uncertain even in single combat. Returning to the army would be fruitless and probably suicidal. Desertion would likely result in a similar fate. She pondered on Daryn for several moments, unsure of what their leader would decide. Ultimately, she decided, she would follow him. The assembled group was now the closest thing that she had to a family; they had forged a bond of blood and kinship that few would understand. She trusted in her commander and his decisions, for the knight had not led her astray yet, and even when she questioned his choices, he was ultimately in the right.

Of course, a decision such as this had never rested upon his shoulders. Would the path he chose, quite possibly in grief, be the correct one? That, Tia decided, was not for her to ascertain. She would follow Daryn, no matter how destructive the chosen course seemed. She trusted in him, and she would follow him.

The archer was slightly amazed at how easily that decision had come. Given the circumstances, she would have thought her reactions to be much harsher, and indeed she would have assumed that she would place blame an any person she could, with Daryn being the most likely candidate, a figure she could lash out at with relative ease. Of course, one can never predict how one will react to a situation until they are put into said situation. In the end, Daryn was a wise leader, and a dear friend. In these dark times, she could not betray that.

Fuck Daryn. Even now, he kept her from anger.In any case, whatever his choice was, she would follow. In all honesty, she needed him. She thought of their first battle. She had broken down afterwards, the eyes of a dead man haunting her vision. The knight had comforted her, and helped her through the internal battles she was dealing with. He was a solid foundation for her to lean against when necessary, and this was one of the times. Fuck you, Daryn.

Tia was mildly surprised as the sun broke the horizon, spraying beams of brightness into her sanctuary, breaking the shadows that she was hiding in. Cursing silently, she turned to see Alyssa stirring from her slumber. The rest of the camp had begun moving, a readily practiced breakdown of the camp already beginning to take form. She turned away only long enough to wipe the precipitation from her cheeks before retrieving her bow. Walking to the fire, she kicked some dirt onto it, smothering the flame, and then joined the rest of the group in what little preparation was necessary. Her grey eyes turned to their leader, and she could read his face easily; he was still uncertain as to his decision. As their eyes locked, she gave him a slight nod, slowing her work, if only to give him a few more minutes of respite. After all, he needed a pillar as well.


	5. Righteous Anger

_Author's Notes: These notes are lengthier than I wanted, but I felt some of them were necessary._

_Celestial Exodus- I have responded to most of this via a reply to you, but there are some things that I think are important for everyone to read. You are 100% correct on Dycedarg's actions – they don't fit his character. I was actually hoping that somebody would bring this up. The reasoning will be revealed soon. I appreciate the con-crit, and at some point, I will probably review the previous chapters and look at possible revisions._

_For everyone – chapters have been going up at an astonishing rate, I know, but I had the first several already planned. They'll probably slow down soon after the introspections, and the actual storyline goes into full progression._

_***_

Rikk sat far from the fire. His cloak was pulled up, his hood cloaking his face. This was not unusual, as the young holy knight was typically covered in such a fashion. He shivered in the night, not for the chill, but for sheer rage. Alyssa was saved; that was the most important thing. His father however, one of the few people to show him kindness, was gone, murdered by the pompous Beoulve brat.

The young man felt little in the way of sorrow; his grief was portrayed in a channeled, destructive force of anger. Why he had allowed Daryn to talk him down from tracking down and killing Dycedarg on the spot, the holy knight would never understand. The traitorous bastard had stabbed his father and was going to torture and kill Alyssa. How could Daryn pardon such an act?

Rikk was not stupid. He knew his reaction was irrational, and it would have resulted in little more than his own death. Letting his anger continue unabated would cause problems, and so Daryn's closest friend allowed his mind to wander, and it latched onto the one thing that made Rikk happy: his adopted sibling, Alyssa.

The two had grown up together, raised in Orbonne Monastery. Many there were of noble birth, and treated Rikk as less than a piece of meat to feed to their hunting dogs. Alyssa was different, though. She had always shown him kindness; indeed, she always showed kindness to _everyone._ It was disconcerting in a way, how she managed to show this unconditional love and trust of every person that she came in contact with. Heart and soul, the girl was just a good person, and Rikk admired that. It was a feat he could never accomplish himself, and he knew it.

His anger began to melt at even the thought of Alyssa. Turning his head slightly, his eyes caught her sleeping form, and a small smile played at his lips, shaded as they were under the cloak. She had that effect on him, even when she wasn't trying. She was the only one who could ever calm his fits of anger, although Daryn could at least talk sense into the brash youth. Slowly, he turned his face away once more, sated for several moments before his mind turned once again to Dycedarg.

Almost immediately, the animosity returned in full force. Rikk's father had been a good man, showing little care for the young man's prior social status, instead caring for his ideals and dedication. That was the reasoning behind him adopting Rikk, and the holy knight would never forget that. It had been three years ago, when the forward force of the Hokuten had taken heavy losses during a battle. Orbonne Monastery allocated support, sending some of their acolytes to aid in the healing, along with a proper protection force for the journey. Alyssa was an acolyte, Rikk a guard.

The necessity of having a strike force of guardians proved all too true during the journey, as brigands attacked their meager camp in the middle of the night. The bandits were all too common, taking advantage of supply routes and minimal military staffing due to the war. Nonetheless, the nerve of attacking a camp of servants of the Cloth… well, it was in the past now. Still, Rikk's form quivered slightly at the thought.

Most of the swordsman had immediately engaged their foes, but Rikk moved directly to find Alyssa, his sense of loyalty overwhelming that of duty. He found her struggling to shield her guards with protective magic as a troupe of wizards, similarly protected by armed and armored brigands, rained destruction into the forces of the monastery.

He only had a glimpse of light as warning before he dove into his childhood friend, knocking her away. Pain and burning flashed through his body, and he didn't awake until several days later. Afterwards, the young holy knight was adopted into the nobility. The teasing from his peers didn't stop; indeed, it probably grew worse. But now he had a title. No longer was he a lapdog. And nobody would ever question his ability to protect Alyssa.

That was his duty now, all he cared about. As long as she was safe, he was alright. That was why he had ignored Daryn the day prior. Those that were dying to the arbalesters meant nothing to Rikk; the only thing that was of the slightest significance was the saving his little sister. Or rather, that was the only item of importance, before they ran into Dycedarg.

Rikk grit his teeth as the scene of the day before played through his every thought; his body quaked in sheer rage at what Beoulve had done. That little fucking _prick _had dared to lay a hand on his sister, and thought that he could get away with killing his father? Rikk would kill the snot-nosed little piece of shit, and he would enjoy it. It would not be quick. It would not be painless. He swore, then, that when Dycedarg paid for his actions, for tearing apart Rikk's entire life, that he would feel every piece of unimaginable agony that the Beoulve had put those four people through on that day. Except a few hours would not be the length of Rikk's plans; nay, he would draw it out for days, _weeks, _if he could.

Rikk would have went after Dycedarg immediately had they not been so rudely interrupted by a giant flying boulder. Even after this altercation in his passion-driven plans, had Daryn not had the audacity to calm the man, he would have been chasing after Dycedarg even now. How could the knight do such a thing? His brother had been mutilated and murdered as well – hell, Daryn had buried him. Still, he managed to convince Rikk to not pursue Dycedarg Beoulve.

Damn Daryn. He had hit every little button on Rikk that he knew: Alyssa's protection, loyalty to his friends, everything. He never said anything about Dycedarg's house, or the futility of pursuit; for how pissed Rikk was at the knight, he could not forget that Daryn knew his team well, and knew what to say, and indeed, what not to. He cursed Daryn again, anger still quivering through his bones.

What were they to do now? Were they to hide like dogs, treated as criminals and outcasts because _they _had been betrayed? Of course they were. Rikk would see an end to that, though. Oh, he would indeed. And that end would come with the slow, painful death of Dycedarg Beoulve. The holy knight swore, swore to God, that whatever happened, it would end with his blade and his enemy's flesh, Daryn's thoughts notwithstanding.

Rikk was the last to move when the sun broke the horizon. He heard the shuffling behind him, the others moving to break camp. His ears picked up on Alyssa stretching and yawning, and he could imagine her rubbing the sleep from her eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the morning sun. He'd keep her safe. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, purposefully, he stood, forcing his body to stop responding to the anger that ran its course through his blood. Eventually, he began to aid in the breaking down of the camp. He'd keep her safe. And he'd make sure she was safe, always, by slaying Dycedarg Beoulve.


	6. Rising Conflict

_Author's Notes: For those of you wondering about Dycedarg bringing on some torture, this chapter should answer some questions._

***

Daryn eyed the campsite as all of the morning tasks were completed, all too quickly and efficiently for his taste on this particular morning. The post-dawn hour was pleasant; the sun's golden rays gloriously bursting through an early spring canopy, a brisk breeze combating the warmth of the yellow light. On any other day, it would have been the perfect morning. On this day, it was there was far too much unease to make it pleasant at all. On this morning, one decision could alter the lives of five people; alternatively, it could also end those lives.

As the tasks finished, one by one, eyes turned towards the knight. The upturned orbs were silent, expectant in their piercing glares. They were almost accusing in their intensity. Four pairs of eyes stared at him. Alyssa was the only one who did not turn her gaze to their leader. Humming silently to herself, she was crouched at the edge of the clearing, gazing at flowers, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air. Daryn swallowed, the lump in his throat pressing painfully against the air he forced down his gullet. Slowly, the knight met each of his friends' gazes. Clearing his throat, he turned suddenly, and began to place a saddle on Nyran. He meticulously performed his task, being overly cautious in his duty in order to stall the inevitable, just to gain a few more seconds of not having to mouth a decision that he had already come to.

The stillness of the camp was irritating, a palpable tension pervading the air. Eventually, even the blissfully unaware Alyssa caught onto the idea that something that she did not know about was occurring. Daryn saw her out of the corner of his eyeas she stood, turning towards the group. _Oh no… _He watched her eyes move from one person to the next, each a statue, their eyes all unmoving, each glaring at Daryn. Finally he watched her gaze settle on him, the questioning look she was giving him all too obvious. _Please, Alyssa, don't do this to me. Don't do this to yourself, dearest._

He turned back to the group, his right hand coming up to his face. With his thumb and forefinger, he pushed at his eyes, rubbing them. He was so tired. No, he was exhausted. Between the lack of sleep and the pressure that was bearing down on his shoulders, his body fought to not sag under the weight of itself. The time had come. He could stall no longer. He opened his mouth to speak, but Alyssa, bless the child, saved him.

"Daryn?" Her eyes moved to him, and then flicked back to the others, the statues. "Daryn, what's going on? Why is everyone staring at you that way?" The knight faltered a bit, stumbling over himself in an attempt to form an answer for the girl.

Amazingly, it was Tia that came to save him this time. "We're just waiting for his orders, Aly-"

"Don't lie to me!" Daryn blinked in surprise as the cherubic face flushed with anger, her small form turning towards the archer. "You're never this tense! None of you! What's going on?" She quivered a bit, her frustration obvious. Daryn blinked again. Alyssa _never _acted like this. She was supposed to be soft spoken, naïve, their little angel.

"Daryn, we're just going to have to-" Tristan's words had barely formed before Rikk was in front of him, his form glowering, his face still hidden.

"No. We don't have to. Not ever. Do you understand that, boy? Not. Ever. And if you do, I will make sure that what remains of your life is a living hell." Daryn's friend stood in front of the boy, directly between him and Alyssa. Daryn could hear whispering, though not nearly well enough to make it out. _Great._

The tension of the evening had finally come to an apex in the morning light, and the group was about to implode in on itself. Daryn stared in open amazement. Alyssa's flush had disappeared, her anger replaced with a look of sheer confusion. Tia stepped up to the boys. Daryn was grateful for that – she was an amazing second-in-command. "Rikk, maybe Tristan is right. It isn't fair to Alyssa to hide this. She should know." Perhaps Daryn should work with her on her mediation abilities.

Rikk didn't even bother answering. He turned, his hand going to his waist. All he had to do was touch his blade to channel divine energy through it, and he was quick. The entire scene seemed to play out in slow motion before Daryn's eyes, his disbelief leaving him in an immovable state of shock. Suddenly, everything sped up again as Rikk was sent flying several feet, landing solidly on his back, skidding across the loose dirt.

Tia shook her hand, and then popped her wrist. There was a reason that she was Daryn's second. "Disagree with me all you want, Rikk, but don't you ever dare to draw that sword on me. Not ever. Especially not today." Disgusted, she turned away from him. Rikk growled and started to stand as a shout rang through the air, a single word weighted with two voices that seemed to rip through everyone's ears.

"Stop!" The high pitch of Alyssa's voice joined with the commanding growl from Daryn's throat, and all turned their eyes to both of them. Indeed, even they stopped and stared at each other for a moment. Alyssa was the first to break the moment of silence. "What… is going on here? What is happening? Why is everyone fighting?" Her voice trembled, and it was obvious that she was on the verge of tears. Daryn wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't do that, not now. He couldn't lie to her like that.

"Alyssa…" Rikk shot a glare at him. Somehow, through everything, his hood had managed to stay up, but Daryn could feel the icy touch of Rikk's eyes on him. "Alyssa, we need to talk." Rikk spat on the ground, and pushed himself to his feet angrily. Tia dropped her eyes, and even Tristan looked a tad uneasy. "It's about… what happened yesterday." Daryn hesitated, and looked at the others. His best friend merely turned his back, and both Tia and Tristan were avoiding his gaze. Of course, the burden of leadership, as always, fell to Daryn once again.

He took a deep breath and turned back towards Alyssa. As he opened his mouth, however, a cry of pain rushed through the air. Daryn immediately spun on his heels, his sword and shield materializing into his hands. Tristan had dropped to one knee, his hand clutching at an arrow that was protruding from his shoulder. "Tia!" The girl nodded, and disappeared into the trees. Alyssa began moving towards Tristan, while Rikk and Daryn exchanged glances. The knight could feel the words forming from under the cowl. _We'll deal with this later._

Rikk and Daryn rushed past Tristan, ignoring his gasps of pain as blood dribbled down his shirt and onto the grass. The boy was smart, though, and ignored the pain long enough to get his back against a tree while Alyssa moved towards him, crouching through the open clearing to reduce her profile.

_Where is that archer? _Daryn's eyes searched the woods as he moved, performing a quick counterclockwise scouting circle around the camp. Suddenly, from behind him, a familiar twang broke the air, and a sharp pain erupted in the small of his back. He gasped, but didn't fall; his armor had taken the brunt of the blow. The arrow had probably only barely pierced skin, or so he hoped. There was no time to worry about it now. They had found the archer.

Daryn saw Rikk pointing his blade towards the distance, and an ear-splitting crack filled the air as a bolt of lightning struck from the cloudless sky, and a flash of yellow light preceded a scream of agony and the sound of a body slamming into the dirt. Daryn had little time to react, however, as half a dozen other figures, apparently knights, emerged from the woods. Three of them immediately closed in on Daryn, the other three circling around towards Rikk.

The knight cleared his mind, allowing his skill to take over. Thinking would only get him killed now. He let out a shrill whistle as he brought up his shield, angling it to deflect an incoming mace. With his other hand, he brought the blade directly upward in a swinging motion throwing off balance a wild slash that was aimed at him. As soon as the blades connected, he relaxed his fingers, allowing his sword to roll in his hand, grasping the hilt in a reverse hold just in time to block another sword from the knight behind him.

He had no chance like this. Three of them against his one, and he was surrounded. Defense was great, but it would not win a battle; eventually, one of them would slip through his parries and blocks, and then it would be over. "Rikk!" The holy knight was probably also overmatched. Despite the fact that it was six lesser opponents, it was still thrice their number. Daryn spun, leaving himself open for just a moment as he slammed his shield into the face of the man that was behind him, and then rushed forward, pivoting as he saw Rikk perform a similar move with the hilt of his sword.

The two slammed into each other's backs and continued their defensive maneuvers. A warm feeling rushed down Daryn's back, and he realized that his moment of weakness had caused him a wound; a blade had slipped in between his plates and cut at his sword arm's shoulder. Damn, that would slow him down quickly. Gritting his teeth, he threw his blade upwards, angling it over his head to stop the incoming mace, allowing it to slide down the angle with its own momentum, throwing the attacker off balance. Daryn followed up with a quick kick to the man's knee, but was forced to withdraw the attack as his other two combatants pressed in.

Rikk's belabored breathing filled Daryn's ears, and he knew that they were failing quickly. _Come on, come on… _The battle had only gone on for about a minute and a half, but he could already feel his muscles tiring, and the blood flow from his two previous wounds was increasing. Several other minor scratches had managed to connect before he had deflected them, and the blood loss was beginning to get to him. His breath came in ragged gasps, tearing at his drying throat. Daryn had only landed a couple of blows himself, and had no idea how Rikk was faring.

Suddenly, an arrow whistled through the air, glancing off of the armor of the knight wielding the mace. Daryn seized the opportunity of the distracted man, slamming his shield into his foe. Daryn spun on his left foot, dropping low to sweep the legs out from under the staggering man, stabbing at another simultaneously as he rose. Two crashing noises came from behind him, and he saw Nyran trotting from the direction of the campsite, sending another wave of flaming earth at one of the knights on Rikk. Several twanging noises filled the air as Tia's bow rained arrows onto their foes. She wasn't doing much more than nicking their armor, but the distraction was enough for Rikk and Daryn to press the advantage.

Daryn stepped forward, his blade working a flurry against one of the knights. An overhead strike, flipped into a switched group, turned into a direct thrust at the stomach. The other knight parried the blow, but Daryn spun with the momentum, bringing his shield into the face of the other knight. A splatter of blood from the man's nose filled the air, and Daryn continued the spin, his sword coming across in a wide arc, slamming forcefully into the still staggering knight's throat. Ducking, he swung himself under the sword to gain better leverage as the other opponent swung at where Daryn's head was. Flipping his hand around the hilt again, Daryn pulled hard on the sword, bringing up his shield to deflect an incoming swing. A counterthrust caused his opponent to bring his shield to bear as well, but Daryn was prepared for that. Sweeping the sword in a wide arc, he sidestepped his foe, the blade coming up behind the man's shield, severing the leather straps that held it to his arm. Daryn brought his own shield arm across his body, then bringing it about forcefully with a mighty backswing, slamming it into the other knight's face. A sickening crack filled the air as his head turned much further than it should, and he slumped to the ground, life draining from his eyes.

Daryn turned to find that the mace wielder had an arrow sticking out of one eye, and that Rikk had managed to dispose of his opponents, although all three held burn marks and obvious bludgeoning damage from Nyran's small meteors. Rikk was dropping his hands from his cowl. _Damn. _He had probably just put it back up, too. Daryn wiped his blade on the cloak of one of the knights, noting the Hokuten symbol. _Well, at least that makes my decision easier. _Daryn crooked his arm behind his back, withdrawing the arrow that had managed to slip between his plates. He grimaced as a sharp pain shot through his back again, but it was merely a nick. He would be alright.

The post-battle silence was broken as a shriek filled the air, and then a thump as Tia fell from a nearby tree. Her eyes were open, and she was breathing, but her body was eerily still, despite the fact that one leg was twisted in an odd direction. "Ti-" His words were cut off as his body suddenly refused to respond. Shit, magic.

Judging by the lack of the sounds of movement, he was not the only one affected by the spell as two figures stepped out from behind a thick oak that stood several yards away. One was dressed in well-fitted clothing of a high caliber. A noble, but he was obviously not a fighter. He had only a small dagger at his belt, and no armor. Light silvery hair crested his brow, with piercing blue eyes accenting his fair skin. The other was a female in a simple white robe, with only a dirty rope to substitute as a belt. What skin showed on her was filled with heavy scarring, and a rope was looped around her neck, which led itself to the hand of the noble. She was meek in appearance, her eyes downcast. Were it not for the twisted scar tissue marring her features, she would have been beautiful. Once lustrous black hair coiled down to her shoulders, now unkempt and mangled. It was difficult to discern any of her finer features due to the layers of scarring.

The man studied them for a moment, and then smiled. "I see we have found some of our runaways." He beckoned to the girl, and she flinched before pulling a length of rope from a bag in her hands. "Good. I can have some fun with you. And Dycedarg shouldn't return for quite some time – I could drag this out for a few weeks. As soon as I get you lot tied up, I will go and find the other… two, I believe?" As he spoke, he had taken the rope, moving towards Daryn, pulling out his dagger and carefully measuring the length that he would need. His smile widened and he chuckled in anticipation as he strode towards the unmoving knight.

Daryn's mind whirled. _Dycedarg had only killed them. It was this man, the one who had tortured them. Who are you? _Well, it mattered little now. They were going to be put under a blade by a pure sadist. His mind flashed back to the sight of the day prior. That was _rushed? _This was not going to be pleasant. He couldn't imagine what kind of 'fun' this man was going to have with him, Rikk, Tia, Tristan, Alyssa…

Wait, where were Tristan and Alyssa?

A piercing crack filled the air and the man jerked in pain, a spray of red mist exploding from his leg. A piercing cry escaped his lips as he fell to one leg and Tristan materialized from the woods. Daryn heard a soft chanting, and then his muscles began responding, and he wasted no time in rushing at the noble in front of him as Tristan quickly began to reload the pistol in his hands. The noble's eyes grew wide as his plans turned sour at a rapid pace. He turned to his slave. "Bela!" The girl flinched and whispered a few quick words. Daryn's blade came arcing downward…

And slashed into the ground as the two dematerialized. "Son of a bitch!" Daryn yanked his sword from the soft ground, kicking at a rock angrily. What the fuck was going on? "Alyssa, tend to Tia," he snapped, knowing it was her that had freed him from the spell, and was thus nearby. The priestess stepped up to the archer, leaning down. Tia was rolling on the ground, painful moans escaping her lips, her broken leg twitching violently. Alyssa shushed her as she began to work.

Daryn moved off into the woods, grimacing, Tia's screams piercing the air as Alyssa set the bone for healing. It would still be about an hour before they could move. A rustling nearby caused him to turn his head, and he saw Rikk move up beside him. "Not now, Rikk. I have other things on my mind." Rikk didn't say anything. The two stood in silence, listening to the agonized yells of Tia.

It was, indeed, close to an hour later when Tristan moved up behind them. "Tia's leg is fixed. No other major injuries." The boy's voice was cold and calculated, as usual. Daryn gritted his teeth, and then nodded. Without a word, he moved back to the others, spitting on one of the corpses on the way. Eyes turned expectantly towards him, and Alyssa opened her mouth, only to be silenced when Daryn brought up his hand. "Grab your shit. We're going to Orbonne."


End file.
